


Silver Linings

by GarnetSeren



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Gift Giving, Makeup, Male-Female Friendship, POV Second Person, Pampering, Post-Break Up, Pre-Relationship, Precious Peter Parker, Vague Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 07:23:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16511834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarnetSeren/pseuds/GarnetSeren
Summary: Pulling a sicky because of a break up wasn't a highlight of your life, but you were feeling too upset and raw to really care. Besides you felt like crap, so that surely had to count for something, right? And it was only going to be for a day, just long enough to get your emotions back under control, and to give your eyes time to stop looking like you'd been stung by a bee. You were simply planning on hunkering down for the day, ignoring the world and nursing your heartache... until a certain handsome brunette with a boyish smile turned up at your door, wanting to make sure you were alright. The fact he came barely gifts was merely a bonus.***Honestly, this is just unadulterated fluff. Can be read as Homecoming Peter Parker or adult Peter Parker, time line is left vague on purpose. Written with a female reader in mind, but no pronouns or names are given, leaving it open for interpretation.****Dedicated to the memory of the illustrious Stan Lee*





	Silver Linings

Perhaps a break up wasn't the best reason to call in sick, but you had, and barely felt guilty about it. You figured you could hardly turn up with red puffy eyes that screamed “I've been crying over a stupid ass hole for hours” anyway... two ass hole in fact. Because not only had you found out your boyfriend had been cheating on you for _months_ , it just happened to be with your bloody best friend.

Ha! You bet they had a right laugh behind your back about it all. The only saving grace was that _you_ had ended it with both of them, and calmly you might add. Or at least, you hadn't broken down in tears until _after_ you got home. You'd cried for hours then, to the point that your throat was so hoarse, you sounded completely believable when you'd phoned in sick. In fact, you sounded like death warmed up, and you doubted you looked much better; dressed in your comfiest pyjamas with your hair a haphazard mess. But at least you'd cleaned your face and brushed your teeth, so you felt somewhat human after crying all damn night.

And of course, when you were looking so utterly glamorous, there was a knock at your front door. In all honesty, you were quite prepared to ignore it... until your phone started to vibrate as well. A sad hiccup of a choked sob escaped you as you retrieved it from the other end of the sofa; where you'd thrown it in anger after realising neither of the ass holes were going to at least apologise.

It took you a moment to reconcile what you were seeing. Peter Parker's name flashed up on screen, along with the _only_ random photo of the two at you; taken at some party the other month, which you'd set as the caller ID. You frowned and swiped off the call. It wasn't that you didn't like Peter, in fact you thought he was sweet and a genuinely nice guy, but you would hardly say he was a friend. More an acquaintance, considering how little you really saw each other. So whatever he needed could wait until you were feeling a little less fragile, or so you thought, until you noticed several text messages:

**Hey,  
I know you might not want any company, but I saw what happened yesterday. Wanted to make sure you're alright.**

**Heard you'd called in sick. Thought I'd pop over to see if you're okay, is that cool?**

**Hey,  
Are you okay? I get it if you don't want company, but I've got something that might cheer you up. Can you come get them, then I'll leave you alone. Promise.**

**Hey,  
I get you don't want to talk to me. Sorry for bugging you. I just wanted to make sure you're okay. I know you probably don't want to talk about it, but what happened was really shitty. So I'm going to leave some things on your doorstep. There's ice cream in the bag, just to warn you. Guess I'll see you around.**

You'd barely finished reading the last message as you bolted off the sofa and ran to the door. It was timed stamped only a few seconds ago, so hopefully you still had time... without really thinking, you called Peter's name as soon as you'd flung open the door; belatedly remembering what a mess you looked _after_ his retreating figure turned to face you. However, that thought was promptly forgotten when he turned that stupid boyish grin at you, and you found yourself involuntarily returning it with a small smile of your own.

He immediately jogged back to you, bending to pick up the bag you hadn't even glanced down at, before handing it to you somewhat shyly. No real thought went in to standing aside and ushering him in, though you would never understand what prompted you to bypass the lounge and show Peter to your bedroom; where you'd thankfully already tossed all the used tissue, and even straightened the bed you hadn't managed to sleep in last night.

However, you hadn't bothered to open the curtains. So you weren't entirely sure, but you thought you saw a hint of a blush on his cheeks, but that could have just been a trick of the dim light. You gave a mental shrug before sitting down on your bed, patting the spot beside you in invitation. Peter dithered by the door for a moment, clearly surprised by the gesture, but you were just too drained and worn out for social niceties. You wanted to be comfy, your bed was comfier than the sofa, so you were going to sit on it, propriety be damned.

As Peter finally sat down beside you, seeming a little nervous, you took a moment to take him in. His chestnut hair was flopping into his face adorably, no matter how many times you watched him try push it back from his forehead. He wore dark denim jeans, and a NASA tee under a grey plaid shirt. You vaguely realised he looked quite handsome, but you were more distracted about how carefully he set his backpack down, before handing you the Spiderman gift bag he'd brought you. You huffed a small laugh at his hurried apology; he was rather adorably embarrassed, muttering that it was the only one he could find in his Aunt's cupboard.

“Good thing Spiderman's my favourite then,” you stated, your grin not entirely forced.

Peter very obviously blushed then, but not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable, you turned your attention to the contents of the gift bag. True to his word, there was a tub of ice cream; but not just any old brand or flavour, it just happened to be your favourite. You frowned slightly, surprised he remembered it from the rambling conversation you'd had at that party the other month. It gave you pause, as you seriously doubted your ex had ever known it, despite dating for a few years. There was also a selection of other snacks as well, a copy of your favourite childhood book... again, something you'd only mentioned in passing.

Honestly, you weren't even sure you should still be surprised by this point. It was pretty obvious that Peter paid attention to what you said, despite the fact you'd only hung out a handful of times, and most of your social conversations hadn't amounted to much more than chatting shit. Quite frankly you were shocked, and really very touched. The thoughtfulness Peter showed would have probably made you cry, if it wasn't for the collection of seemingly random movies he'd also included. There was quite the mix; from eighties' classics, musicals, Disney, anime, Bollywood and even well known 'chick flicks'. It seemed Peter had gone all out in his attempt to cheer you up, which proved what a sweetheart her was. But as you glanced up in order to thank him, you saw Peter nervously fiddling with the straps of his backpack.

“Everything alright?” you asked, kindly.

“Um... yeah. Yeah. Everything... everything's good,” he replied, hurriedly.

“Peter...”

Suddenly, he turned to face you. His knee bouncing as his hands wrung the bag straps. “Okay. Look, I know this is probably going to sound really weird. Actually, it's definitely going to seem weird, and I have no idea why I thought it was a good idea. So can we just forget about it, and I'll go...”

“Peter!” you interrupted, trying not to laugh. “What is it?”

He sighed, but sat back down clutching his backpack tighter. “You got my texts?”

You nodded, not sure how they related.

“So you know I know what happened, and it was really shit. You such a nice person. I mean, you're lovely. You don't deserve any of that,” Peter explained, quickly. “So I wanted to do something to cheer you up, because if it was me, I'd feel pretty crap about it.”

Your lip trembled as you tried not to think about yesterday, blinking back tears as you nodded again to get him to continue.

“So I wanted to do something nice, not just get you some nice things. You know, so you'd know there's people that care about you,” he stated, seeming increasingly nervous. “Look, don't laugh, but I looked up some ideas online and then asked a few people for ideas... but I swear, I didn't mention it was you or why I wanted to cheer you up. Just asked for ideas of something nice I could do for you.”

“I believe you,” you said, quietly. Your heart still pounding from the sudden fear more people knew about your humiliation.

“And I thought this was kind of a good idea at the time, at least it seemed kinda fun and we didn't need to go outside if you didn't want to,” Peter rambled. “But now I'm here it seems really stupid, and you're going to think I'm a bigger dork than you already do. And even if you agree it's going to be a complete disaster, because I haven't a clue what I'm doing and I only watched like one James Charles video, and I should really shut up now.”

You blinked at him, surprised and trying to process what he'd just said. “Are you... going to give me a make over?”

“Yes?”

His squeaked reply came out more of a question than an actual answer, and for some reason, it made you laugh. Genuinely laugh, harder than you had in a long time. But you were forced to stifle your chuckles when Peter made to leave again, and you grabbed his wrist and pulled him back onto your bed. You weren't laughing _at_ him, more the crazy situation and the completely unexpected suggestion. However, you suddenly felt lighter... like what had happened yesterday wasn't a complete loss, since it meant you now had Peter being completely adorkable and asking to do your make up. Sure, you still felt upset and angry, but if there was any silver lining to such a shitty situation, Peter Parker was definitely it.

“Let's do this,” you grinned.

“Really?” he asked, obviously surprised.

You shrugged. “I'm not saying I'll be willing to wear it outside, but sure. Why not? Worst that could happen is you give me some ideas for next Halloween.”

“Great. Brill. Great... um...”

Peter paused to rifle through his backpack, pulling at more make up than you had really expected him to be carrying. Despite your curiosity, you only gave the products a cursory glance; noticing the foundation wasn't your shade at all... meaning it was probably borrowed from his Aunt. Same for the concealer and face powders, when you thought about it. However, things like the eyeshadow palette, mascara and lipstick were all still in their boxes, as were the brushes. And you realised with some shock Peter must have gone out and bought these things to do this for you. He really had planned this since yesterday, and you were somewhere between touched and stunned that he'd go to so much obvious effort for you.

“Alright, girl...” he paused again, clearly mentally face palming at how daft he sounded, but quickly cleared his throat. “Girl. I will do your make up, and you're going to look um... fly. No. You will look... ah... one flee... no, that's old. Um... ah! You will look _snatched_.”

Unable to help yourself, you snorted with laughter, and it was obvious Peter was trying to keep a straight face.

“You will look _snatched_ , darling,” he stated, flicking his hair off his forehead.

It was obvious he was settling into some kind of persona, and you almost wished you'd thought to set your camera up to record this... whatever this was, as it promised to be highly entertaining no matter what state you ended up looking. And Peter only hesitated for a moment, before he reached up, his warm hands cradling your face for a moment; his thumb wiping an errant tear you hadn't even noticed from your cheek, before he smoothed any fly-away hairs back off your face.

“Okay, you. You stay there, and look as gorgeous as ever,” Peter winked, dramatically. “Lucky for you, I always carry a stupidly large amount of make up around with me at all times. So lets get started, shall we.”

You huffed out another laugh, wondering if he was channelling some Tony Stark persona at this point; but still shuffled a little closer until your knees were touching, so he wasn't having to lean too far to reach you. For a brief moment, regular Peter made a reappearance, giving you that sweet boyish smile and your leg a reassuring squeeze, before he cleared his throat and Guru Peter was back.

“So we need to start with foundation,” he stated, holding up the bottle before scrunching his nose. “This isn't really your colour, but all true professionals know how to make do.”

What followed was five minutes of Peter gently patting the completely wrong coloured foundation onto your skin using a sponge, though you had to give him points for blending into you hairline and down your throat. He followed up with concealer, then promptly making you laugh by demonstrating the 'duck face' he wanted you to pull, so he could do your contouring.

“Oh! We can't forget to contour your nose either, darling. Because can you really say you made an effort if you haven't tried to give yourself a nose job using only the magic of make up?” he asked, evidently trying not to laugh.

With a hum of agreement, you let yourself be subjected to a nose re-sculpting, followed by an amazing amount of highlighting... hell knew what you looked like, probably a disco ball as you were pretty sure there had been glitter in the shimmering powder, but you didn't really care. It was oddly relaxing having your face brushed, and Peter's running 'commentary' was actually pretty hilarious. You had to wonder how much he was taking off the video he apparently watched, and how much was just his mind running with this new persona of his.

“Yes! Looking _snatched_ ,” he complimented. “Now we've gotten your gorgeous face even more beautiful, I think it's time to start on your eyes. And lucky for you, I have this _very_ high end palette with me today.”

Peter proceeded to produce probably the cheapest looking eyeshadow palette from it's packaging, and you tried your best not to laugh... why and how you'd fallen into this bizarre little role-play with him, you had no idea, but you had to admit your were actually enjoying yourself. As daft as it was, it did feel a little like getting pampered.

“So I have this new... ah... fluffy Morphy M...twenty? Yeah, M-twenty brush, and these _gorgeous_ shimmery metallic shades. And I'm going to take this Morphy M _thirty_ brush. And we're going to take this shade, which is a transition colour, and put it right on your brow bone.”

'This' colour happened to be a shocking electric blue, and your shoulders were beginning to shake with the effort of not laughing.

“Hush you!” Peter warned, boobing you on the nose with the end of the brush. “This is going to be an avant garde look... very editorial. So I'm going to take this Morphy M _fifty_ brush and just sweep this colour right here...”

You sat for another twenty minutes as he applied various shades of blue, purple and even pink eyeshadow. Followed by too thick eyebrows and a slightly nerve wracking experience of letting Peter put mascara on you; which ended up you holding his hand steady as you blinked onto the mascara wand. Your look was finished with terracotta coloured blush and a vivid red lip that clashed with everything else.

Though when you finally looked in the mirror, you realised that despite looking like you'd just walked off the set of an eighties music video, he was surprisingly good at doing make up. But before you could even open your mouth to say anything, he was back to humble Peter Parker; holding up a bottle of nail varnish in your favourite colour and asking if you wanted him to paint your nails. You couldn't help return his gentle smile, but it wasn't until you were laying back on your bead, fingers carefully spread on your stomach to let the varnish dry whilst Peter painted your toe nails, that you called him out on it... because to be quite honest, he was bloody good at it.

“I sometimes do Aunt May's when she's had a rough day,” he explained, quietly. “And I grew up watching her put her make up on. She used to talk me through it, but I've never tried putting it on someone else until today.”

“Just yourself?” you teased, smiling up at the ceiling.

Peter sighed. “I walked into that one, didn't I?”

“A little,” you agreed. “So, you want to stay and watch one of these movies?”

“You don't mind?” he asked, sounding surprisingly hopeful.

“I'm never going to get through all those snacks myself, and I do genuinely enjoy your company. It's actually been nice hanging out, and I'd wouldn't mind doing it again... for the sake of spending time together, rather than my... well...”

“Me too,” Peter blessedly cut in. “Though your ice cream's going to be melted now.”

You shrugged, though he probably couldn't see. “We could always pour it in glasses and call it milkshake.”

“Add some milk and you've got a Baskin Robins,” he stated, deadpan.

Hearing Peter screw the cap on the nail varnish, you sat back up, swinging your legs off the bed and wiggling your toes so you could admire the colour. Smiling, you turned to him, only slightly surprised to find him handing you a pack of make up wipes... good quality ones too... and you couldn't help leaning in to gently kiss his cheek; leaving a garish red lip print against his pale skin. Peter hesitated for a moment before carefully wrapping his arms around you, and you readily returned his embrace, your cheek pressed against his clean one as he hugged you a little tighter.

“Thank you, Peter,” you whispered in ear.

“Any time,” he murmured back. “You're more than worth it.”

 


End file.
